Bare Branches
by Brass Dragon
Summary: With hair and blood, and eyes and blood all merged into a single sin, and he accepted it all. For the soul of the only woman he’d ever love. For the honor of the only mother he’d never know.


**Bare Branches  
The Euthanasia**_ of a childhood  
An effort to cling to innocence by the Brass Dragon_

* * *

It was quick. An indrawn breath, a few heartbeats, not any longer then a lifetime. It had started out simply enough, but simple is a conundrum to the insane. 

An effort to please, a tiny hand tugs for attention. Never as bad as it appeared, when it was all tat you'd ever known.

The quick sound of hand to face, the harsh sting as nails follow through. That was her kiss. The swing of a heel to midsection, a hug and thank you.

Love not fleeting, not kind…nonexistent. The only mother he'd ever known was bitter, hollow…hatred persistent. A woman smitten, betrayed and soul smote. Warm heart rose with a breeze and raced through the cracks in the walls.

What he had done, the curtains had witnessed. Tattered and hung like corpses to shatter the light of the sun. _'Fooolissh' _they whispered as the wind blew.

Ignoring advice from a dripping faucet, _'stop, stop, stop', _he spoke. Words of praise, requests for love; all with childlike honesty and a wavering smile.

Her hands had slid through his hair, mahogany in the dying light, like the appraising pats for a dog.

Affection, protection, acceptation. Whichever came first.

Only to be betrayed by a fluttering breeze. _'Silly',_ it mocked while pushing aside dingy limbs of fabric to take a look. _'What stupidity!'_

Her finger taught in hair like blood, it covered her hands. She called him a whore, she called him an abomination, she called him human.

So resigned, he watched her cry. Tears streaming, each with a single question; _'Why?', 'Why?'._

And the noble axe with truth in its weight and honor in its swing answered; _'It's you'._

With hair and blood, and eyes and blood; all merged into a single sin, and he accepted it all. For the soul of the only woman he'd ever love. For the honor of the only mother he'd never know.

And it was easy.

It was quick. An indrawn breath and the warmest spray of copper tinged life.

So resigned he watched him cry. Tears streaming with a single question; _'Why?', 'Why?'._

And the righteous sword, with truth in its weight and honor in its swing answered; _'It's you'._

And the floorboards wept with the weight of blood, and the foundation cracked under the weight of the sorrow. And he was once again denied love, this time by the man walking, shoulders slumped, sword in hand through the door.

Framed by moonlight he paused as the grass bid him stay, but with a shake of his head and a halting breath he continued.

Helpless, he sat. Dripping with his mother's life and his father's betrayal. A child heaped with sin, born without a shred of innocence.

"My life was never my own." He told her hair.

'_You wouldn't know what to do with it if it were.' _ Sighed the moon, reaching out comforting arms.

Shaking off the light he rose, and in cloths stiff with blood, went to meet the stars. _'Death may have been easier.'_ One commented idly.

'_Easy is rarely the correct path.'_ Another bemoaned.

So he walked, sin personified. Over, under, through a path paved with sharp stones. _'Undeserving.' _ They'd murmur as he passed.

"I know." He'd growl down at them. And letting his hair fall before a scared cheek, "I'll always know."

Falling repeatedly into the arms of the willing, letting his body be used by those with a use.

'_I guess it works if you don't look anyone in the eye.' _Mocked tired sheets, rumpled with use.

Time and time again he was denied love.

A beautiful man who was more concerned with the well being of the dead than those of the living.

"Cho Gonou is dead."

…_and the foundation cracked under the weight of the sorrow_

"I told you. The gods don't save anyone. No one can interfere with the fate he chose. Not you, and not me,"

…_welcome to life. Everything's a useless struggle, and then you die._

But nothing comes without a bit of luck.

* * *

AN: I liked this…until the end. 


End file.
